


Uh... I don't know yet... (no siriusly, I need some ideas)

by Lady_Lala



Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:00:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24014851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Lala/pseuds/Lady_Lala
Summary: A very dramatic and fluffy Crutchie origin story. Enjoy!
Kudos: 9





	Uh... I don't know yet... (no siriusly, I need some ideas)

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOT A COMPLETE WORK! I don't know how to fix it.

"Extra, extra! Hear all about it! Restaurant opens only to find a plague of rats running rampant through the rafters!" Jack smiled as a group of five bought his last papes, exchanging quarters and dimes for the phony headline. Just another day carrying the banner. In truth, the story was only about the mayor's daughter getting a scare from a small mouse that snuck in, but who's gonna buy that snoozer? No one, that's who! So one had to add to the truth, so to speak. Jack didn't even know what a plague was, but it sounded bad, so naturally, he added it to every headline he could. pocketing the change, he readjusted the empty pape bag on his shoulder. He pulled his cap down low, shading his eyes from any onlookers. a Newsie's whole job is to be noticed, but no need to draw attention unnecessarily once business was over, one never knew when Snyder might be out. Snyder the spider, was warden for the local refuge and was mean as they came. Don't let the nickname fool you into thinking this was a spindly old thing, Snyder was big and old as he might be, far from brittle. With huge hands that could smother the cries of hundreds of children, and Jack had seen first hand the kind of horrors Snyder inflicted at the refuge, having grown up there in his early years. But after five miserable years, he had finally managed to escape that horrible place. It became Snyder's one goal in life to recapture the escapee and make the boys' life hell for as long as the ether of them lived. But Jack wasn't too worried about running into the man. It had been five years since his escape, and though jack would occasionally bump into the warden on the streets, hed always managed to get away. Besides, a whole two months had passed since he'd seen the wicked arachnid, and Jack kept hopping the evil thing might have finally died. He doubted it, but there was no harm in keeping his fingers crossed. Speaking of keeping fingers crossed, Jack's luck seemed to have finally kicked in. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, then blinked again. "Do my eyes deceive me, or is that a freshly forgotten stake of papes just waiting to be found by yours truly?" Jack resisted the urge to snatch the papes right then, it was too good. A newsie never left papes just lying around, they cost money after all, and Mr. Wheisl always took extras home. So ether mother luck was smiling on him today, or someone was playing a nasty trick. The papes were lying right outside an alleyway, perfect ambush position. There was probably some kinda thug lying just inside, waiting for some unsuspecting nitwit to go for the easy money. Jack kneaded his eyebrows with a fist. He knew he shouldn't, but couldn't resist. He was fifteen, after all, he reasoned, he could handle himself in a fight. Looking both ways, he swung his arms experimentally and bounced on the balls of his feet, counting silently. "One..." he made his way across the wall, "two..." the papes were just out of reach, "THREE!" He pounced into action. Jumping and rolling, he grabbed the papes, then swung his leg hard and felt the satisfying thwack of his boot connecting with something fleshy and hard. Then he saw something far less pleasant, and his heart dropped to his stomach as he saw the broken boy lying on the ground gasping in pain. Jack just froze, staring at the pail bruised figure of a muddy bloodied up boy no older than ten. the boy writhed in pain his eyes wide in shock and anguish, mouth moving, but only small gasps of air escaped as he clutched the leg Jack had just roundhoused. Snapping out of his stupor Jack slid to his knees and knelt beside the injured boy. He reached out a, but the kids bright blue eyes shot open and flinched violently away, tensing in preparation for the next blow. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, its ok kid. I ain't gonna hurt you." Jack slapped his forehead, "Gah, I'm such a dumbo! I already hurt you, didn't I, but it don't look like I was the only one." The boy's clothes were torn up, and he was covered with bruises, many scabs had reopened and were bleeding. he had obviously been soaked an' left for dead. "Uh just-just relax, ok. I'll see what I can do." He didn't really know what to do or where to start, but he had to do something, and the leg he'd personally beat up seamed as good a place as any. "Here, let me see..." he reached for the hurt leg, and the boy tried to pull away, but the poor kid's eyes rolled up in his head, and he blacked out. "Geez, I said relax, not pass out! But that works too." He rolled up his sleeves and gently rolled the pants, leg up to examine the injured limb. "Oo, that's nasty," he said reflexively, cringing away a bit when he saw the state the leg was in. if you could call it a leg. It was unproportionate thin and bruised bent at a sick angle. "Ain't that a sight for sore eyes," It was definitely broken, but jack couldn't fathom why it was so withered and gnarly. Jack was no doctor, but he didn't think legs were supposed to be all thin and sickly like that when they were broken. But that didn't matter right now, what mattered was getting it into a splint. Tarring his eyes from the horrific injury, he scanned the ally for anything he could use. The remains of some wooden lever or something lay a little way away, and he gathered it up, along with a piece of wood wrapped in cloth and padding. Why someone would wrap a thin block of wood in so much cushioning, beat him, but it was perfect for constructing a makeshift splint. He unwrapped the block and used the cloth to bind pieces of the broken whatever-it-was to the kid's leg, shuddering at the sickening crunch as various "stuff" ground into place. Or at least he hoped it was going into place. Wrapping the splinted leg in the rest of the cushioning and cloth, he stood back to admire his handy work. Jack nodded to himself, rather pleased with his performance. "Well done, Jack o'll pall, what would this kid do without you? He'd have one less broken leg, you idiot." he reminded himself, rubbing his neck. He felt awful about kicking the poor kid and stood there, wondering what to do next. "Well, looks as though you's a Newsie, though I ain't seen ya before, an' I know bout every boy here in Manhattan, Newsie or not." Jack prided himself on his knowledge of all the kids around these parts, being the leader of the local Newsie's. They were practically a family, but they never called themselves one, and this kid could use some looking after. "Might as well bring ya to the logging house, someone there can fix you up better then I could." He sized up the unconscious boy and shrugged. He was a tinny fella, and Jack was pretty strong himself. hoisting the small boy up, he carefully draped the bony body onto his back. He made his way out the ally, the newspapers long forgotten. "Who-who are you?" Said an anxious and hesitant voice in Jack's ear. Jack raised his eyes to look at the speaker, but the boy was draped awkwardly across Jack's back. "Welcome back to the land of the living, kid." He said humorously, "How ya feeling?" "Better then I should be, thanks!" Came the immediate reply. "I mean, you-you still haven't answered my question." The voice said quickly, as though correcting itself for its initial optimism and trust. "Jack, Jack Kelly. You?" Again the voice answered almost immediately, "Crutchie, they call me Crutchie." "Crutchie, huh?" Jack said, absent-mindedly, "that's an unusual name for a kid without a Crutch." There was a sharp intake of breath, and Jack paused, pulling his mind away from daydreaming about super. "You all right, kid?" Pause, then, "They took my crutch, didn't they," Crutchie said, voice shaking ever so slightly. Jack frowned; he hadn't noticed any crutch lying around when he'd found the kid, only the remains of some wooden... "Take a look at your leg, kid. Does it look familiar?" "Well yeah, I've had it my whole life," "Your other leg genius! The one with the splint." There was a pause then, "Oh." Jack felt a face burry into his shoulder and felt the frail body quivering slightly. "Yeah, that's it," came a strained reply. Jack didn't say anything, he didn't know what to say. The use-to-be-crutch was obviously important to the little guy. But if the kid had needed a crutch before his leg had even been broken... Jack was now reasonably sure the withering wasn't a result of the breakage, but he knew now wasn't the time to ask. A few minutes passed, and jack was aware of a small wet patch forming on his vest where the kid had buried his face. There was a sniffle and a little intake of breath that hopelessly reminded Jack of a sad puppy, then a small voice asked, "Do I weigh anything to you?" "Huh?" Jack said, caught by surprise by the seemingly random question. "Do I weigh anything to you? Like, am I heavy?" Jack craned his neck to peer at the muddy face resting on his shoulder. "You sure warmed up fast," he commented. "It's like 80 degrees out, what do you expect?" Jack chuckled, "Not what meant but whatever," He thought to himself, smiling. "Well?" Repeated the voice, "Am I heavy?" Jack scoffed, "About as heavy as a bunch of grapes." There was a small puff of air as Crutchie sighed, seemingly unhappy with the reply. "What? Wish you were heavier so you could crush me?" "No! I'd never! Not after you fixed me up!" He said hurriedly. Jack laughed out loud, he had only been kidding, but this kid took things way too literally, and Jack got a kick out of it. "Yeah, but I gave you that Brocken leg in the first place," he pointed out, "wanna crush me now?" "No! Besides, my leg was already messed up, an' even if it wasn't, I wouldn't hurt you, much less crush you!" Jack shook his head again; the kid seemed genuinely horrified at the thought of hurting someone else even if they beat him up first. "Calm down kiddo, I'm just teasing!" Crutchie didn't say anything. There was a long silence, and Crutchie finally said, "I like grapes." Jack smiled and held back a laugh, "Yeah?" "Yeah." "Me too, kid," they finally arrived at the logging house, and Jack pushed open the door. "Me too." "Jack! Jack, come quick!" It was Buttons. Jack had gone to get madam Meda, a long time friend of his, and left the boys to watch over Crutchie, but now regretted ever leaving the kids side. Though Buttons wasn't cruel and wouldn't do anything too mean, Jack couldn't vouch for some of the other boys. Jack dashed toward the direction of the cry only to crash headlong into Buttons, who'd come running to get him. After tumbling to the floor, the two boys struggled to regain their stance, and Jack finally pulled the other boy up. "What happened, Buttons?" jack asked, shaking the boy's shoulders. "What did you do?" "W-wasn't... me... this time," he managed between giggles. "Well, who's was it, dimwit?" but Buttons only laughed harder, and Jack shoved him away. "You had... better see... for your self." Buttons gasped from the floor, clutching his side stitch in his side from laughing. Jack stood up and turned to madam Medda, "We had better see what he's going on about. Heaven help me if Race tried to give the kid a cigar..." but the madam had apparently already left to see for herself. Turning around, Jack peaked through the door that had been left slightly ajar and sighed in relief. The kid seemed to be just fine. "Cute, ain't he," said a voice next to him. It was Race, a tall thin boy around 15 or 16, and Jack kicked at his shin, "Don't be weird, and he's freaking adorable." he said, grinning. Crutchie lay fast asleep in a bed, his splinted leg stretched out in front of him, and flowers in his wavy blond hair. The room was full of boys pushing and shoving each other to get a good look at the newcomer. The boys had cleaned him up pretty good. They had wiped away most of the mud and grim, and unless jack was seeing things, they'd even put flowers in the poor boy's hair. With the wavy blond hair, soft pale face with a splash of freckles and pointy ears, the sleeping boy made jack think of a cross between a cherub and one of Santas elves. Jack was about to ask where they'd gotten the flowers when the answer quite literally ran him over. He and Race were knocked to the side as two boys rushed into the room with unless jack was seeing things, bunches of flower crowns adorning their heads, and more nestled in their arms. "Sorry, Race!" Specs called as he slid on his knees to Crutchie's bedside. "Specs, Albert, what do you think you're doing?" Jack said a little harsher then he meant. Everyone froze, and the two boys whirled around. The one closest, Albert quickly tore off his daisy adornment, cheeks flushing. "Nothing!" Albert lied, a little louder than necessary. "We was just, uh..." "Getting herbs to help lil' Crutchie recover!" Specs finished, straightening his glasses. "See, no harm," he held out a yellow trumpet-like flower for Jack to inspect. Jack took one look at the flower and ran a hand through his dark brown hair in exasperation. "Those are daffodils, Specks," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Nice, ain't they?" called Albert. "They're poisonous, genius." Albert made a silent "O" then eager to redirect the attention turned to a serious-looking kid with an eye patch. "Blink! What did I tell you about getting the daffodils?" "Me?" Kid Blink said, crossing his arms and glaring at the redhead. "I wasn't even there, dimwit! If your gonna blame it on somebody, blame it on someone who was there, you moron!" "Hey! No need to be unpleasant," Specks said. "an' why should he go blaming it on me?" "Yeah!" Albert interjected, "Leave Specs out of it ya two-faced Pirate boy!" "Why I otta soak you, ya little-" "Out!" Came a carrying voice above the arguing boys, "Out all of you! Before you break something other than each other's pride!" Meda had gotten up and was corralling the protesting boys out of the room. "You too, Jack, he'll be all right with me." Jack laughed, "Like I ever doubted you." An hour or two passed, and most of the boys had passed out on the floor right outside Crutchie's room. They had stayed up late, Finch fantasizing about the "loads" of papes they were bound to sell off the little guy, and the rest wholeheartedly agreed. There were two and only two reactions to a new newsie. One: if they were older about 13 or 14, they were considered competition until they proved their worth as a fellow Newsie. Or two: if they were on the younger side, 12 and down, they were easily welcomed in with open arms, and sometimes fought over. After all, the younger they were, the more papes they'd sell, and whoever was their partner, so to speak, was bound to get some perks. Of course, after a while, they'd become part of the crew for more than just their age, but sometimes you had to take advantage of what you got. But Crutchie was a gold mine, JoJo had said to them all. The new boy was on the younger side with wavey golden curls, and right blue eyes, cute as they came with a happy deminer and a smile like butter. Not only that, but the kid was a temporary crip, which meant rich folks would be tripping over themselves to help the poor boy out with a few extra coins, Race had reminded them. But Jack sensed the kids' worth went farther than just selling a few extra papes. when Crutchie had woken up, jack had heard him quietly telling Meda his best jokes as she bandaged him up. Bad as they might be, they would both laugh at what he thought was witty. A little while after the rest had fallen asleep, madam Meda finally emerged from the room and motioned for Jack to enter. "quiet, he's sleeping," Meda mouthed. Jack nodded and folwed her into the room were Crutchie lay half-covered in a blanket, sleeping in what had to be the most uncomfortable position. One arm held high above his head; the other tucked beneath him, and his strong leg draped over his shoulder. "How does he even sleep like that?" Jack whispered in disbelief. Meda chuckled, "I've readjusted him twice, but he just ends up like that. Made of rubber he is." It was dark, and jack moved closer to see more clearly. Cuts and bruises were already looking better, having been expertly bandaged and cream applied to the injuries. He glanced down at the freshly splinted leg. "Will he be ok?" he asked, looking up at Meda. "He got beat up pretty good, but it's mostly cuts and bruises now. He's a tough little guy, though he may not look it," she said, fondly caressing the boy's cheek. "That leg of his really hurts him, but you wouldn't know it past that smile of his." Jack nodded. He'd seen through the crack in the door. Every time Crutchie flinched or made any sign of discomfort, he would immediately replace the expression with one of his smiles. Assuring Meda that he'd be ok and, even if it did hurt, it was only because whatever she was doing must be working. "Is it bad?" Jack finally asked. "Not as bad as it looks," Meda reassured him, "just a broken bone, that's all." They were silent for a bit watching over the peaceful form of the small boy, but something had been nagging at the back of Jack's mind. "Miss Meda?" "Mmhm." "Are broken bones usually so..." he made a disgusted face, sticking his tongue out and bending his fingers in imitation of the gnarled limb. "No, they're not," she admitted. "Looks as though our friend Crutchie here had polio. That's why it's so sickly." Meda explained sadly. "Polio?!" Jack exclaimed. "That stuffs contagious, don't you know?" "Had polio." Meda corrected. "He don't have it no more, but it definitely left a scar." He took a relieved breath. Nasty stuff, that polio. Suckes the life right out of your limbs. One would do well to steer clear of anyone with it, but Jack didn't think he could bring himself to throw the kid out even if he was contagious. "But he ain't contagious?" jack made sure. "Heavens, no!" Meda answered. "And from what he told me, he had it when he was younger and hasn't had any issues since, other than that bum leg of his," Meda explained. "Id even say he woulda' had a chance at fully recovering if it hadn't been for that bull busting up his leg all over again." The color drained from Jack's face, "What did you say?" he asked quietly. "That he's not contagious?" Media asked. "No, after that, that he might've made a full recovery if-" "If it weren't for those bulls." Meda finished. "Yeah, real unfortunate, isn't it." Jack sank into the chair next to the bed and buried his face in his hands. "Hey, hey, it's not your fault, Jack." Meda said, kneeling in front of him, "If it weren't for you, he woulda bled out on the street." "If it weren't for me, miss Meda, he wouldn't have a broken leg," There was a silence, and Jack was sure Meda would slap him or something. But she merely put a hand on his knee and said, "Tell me what happened, Jack." So he did.

Jack didn't remember falling asleep. He didn't remember sliding from his chair or resting his head on Crutchie's bed. What Jack did remember was telling Meda what he'd done. He remembered wishing shed slap him or yell at him for ruining this kid's chance at a full recovery. But mostly, he remembered how grateful he was to have such an amazing woman for a friend. She hadn't hit or raised her voice at him; she didn't even say a word. Instead, she wrapped him in her strong embrace and ran her warm fingers through his hair as a mother would to a prodigal son. And then he must've fallen asleep, cause after that he woke up.  
"Sh! It's sleeping!" hissed a small voice as Jack stirred.  
"Huh, what?" he muttered, confused. There was a sharp intake of breath, and, "oh, please, no! just hold on a minute!" when He made to lift his head off the bed. Jack's heart froze. He squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't have, could he? He couldn't really be such an idiot as to fall asleep right on top of Crutchie's hurt leg.  
"Ok, we can do this," said Crutchies, determined voice, "on the count of three, alright?"  
Jack nodded, but Crutchie made a squeak, "Gah, no hold still!" he cried. Jack bit his lip, mentally kicking himself; he was feeling like a complete imbecile.  
"Ok, one... two... three!"  
Jack lifted his head quickly as he could, and Crutchie clutched at his leg, eyes shut tight.  
"Oooohhhh, it tingles!"  
Jack opened his mouth to release the stream of apologies that were waiting to tumble out but stopped himself short. Something the kid had said didn't quite fit.  
"Tingles?" he asked, confused.  
"Yeah," Crutchie replied, "hasn't your leg ever fallen asleep before?"  
Jack just stood there, "Fallen asleep?"  
"You know? Gets all tingly an' stuff."  
Jack slapped his forehead, "Oh, Oh wow, you had me scared there, kid. I thought I'd fallen asleep on your hurt leg!" Jack exclaimed, slapping his forehead, laughing in relief. But Crutchie didn't find it all that funny.  
"Heavens no!" he said, the blood rushing from his face, "I woulda passed out if ya had."  
Jack stopped laughing, "Sorry, it-it ain't funny." said Jack, stifling a yawn.  
"You stayed up pretty late, didn't ya?" Crutchie said, his eyes crinkling in concern.  
"Huh? Yeah, yeah, I guess so." Jack replied shrugging.  
"Sorry, I had to wake ya up. It was just getting unbearable, ya know? But I'll be fine now, you can go back to sleep.," said Crutchie.  
"Naw, I've got to sell papes... crap! What time is it? The bell ain't rung yet, has it?" without waiting for an answer, Jack ran to the door and threw it open. He was greeted by many angry voices as he tripped over the sleeping bodies of the boys.  
"Oy! What do ya think you're doing? Quit stepping on my foot!"  
Jack kicked at the boys lying in the doorway, "Get up, get up, you good for nothing, bums!"  
"It's Sunday, nitwit!" Race said, slapping Jack's leg with his cap, "Last I checked, we got Sundays off.  
"Go back ta sleep." Specs yelled grumpily from the corner. The other boy shouted their agreement, many of them cursing and throwing their caps at him, and Jack was shoved back into the room, the door slamming in front of him.  
"Well, how was I supposed to know?" He protested to the closed door. Jack dragged a hand over his face and slid his back down the door and sat there, his eyes closed, head leaning against the wall.  
"Well, would ya look at what Jack the cat drug in." said a voice from Crutchie's bed. Jack opened his eyes to see that Buttons had snuck in and was sitting on the edge of Crutchie's bed, a lopsided grin on his face. "An old nickname of his," He explained, winking at Crutchie. then, to Jack, "You ain't looking so hot, my fine furried friend."  
Jack got up with some effort, "I ain't fury an' since when have you ever called me Jack the cat?" he said irritably.  
"Since now," replied Buttons, shrugging.  
"Well, don't, and would it kill you to give the kid some privacy?" he said, shooing the boy away.  
"Would it kill ya to get some sleep?" Buttons retorted. "I wasn't kitten when I said you didn't look so good." he quipped, going back to the cat puns. Crutchie stifled a giggle, and Buttons turned to the boy, an eyebrow raised, "I think that's the first time anyone has so much as blinked at one of my puns."  
"Don't get used to it," Jack said, grabbing a sheet and throwing it at the other boy.  
"Perfect," Buttons said, catching the sheet, "Nighty night!" he threw the blanket around Jack, shoving him into the chair and expertly tying him down. "There, now get some sleep.," he said, as Jack struggled against his bindings. "I'll perrrsonily see that Crutchie is taken care of."  
"Yeah, me too!" shouted another boy who'd been peeking through the door. "And me!" said about a dozen voices as the boys poured into the room. Jack leaned his head against the wall and groaned. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder and looked up to see Specs standing there. "You get some sleep, jack. We'll take care of him."  
Jack sighed, "Thanks, Specs. Now, mind untying me?"  
"For a dollar," the taller boy teased, untying the defeated boy. Jack stood up, clapping the taller boy on the shoulder pleasantly surprised at the boy's good mood, seeing as Specs wasn't usually a morning person. Though specs could be a bit extreme at times (like going out in the middle of the night to pick flowers just to put them in someone's hair cause he thought it would be funny), he was really an easygoing and helpful guy at heart. Jack knew he could count on him to make sure crunchie would be looked after.  
"What about me, huh? Specs ain't the only useful one!" Jack flinched at the loud voice right next to his ear, "A little loud, Albert." he said testily.  
"Sorry," came the slightly quieter reply.  
Specs ruffled the smaller boy's red hair, "We ain't forgotten about you," Albert wrapped his arms around the taller boy shoving his face in Specs side and breathed deeply. "You smell foul!" the boy commented after a moment then ran off to sit by Crutchie. Jack raised an eyebrow, but Specs just shrugged.  
"I took a shower, I swear. Must've not been long enough."  
"Or often enough." Jack teased, dragging himself off to an adjoining room. The moment Jack's door closed, the boys all crowded around the wide-eyed Crutchie sitting in his bed.  
"How'd Jack find ya?"  
"Where'd Jack find ya?"  
"Why were you all muddy?"  
"Who soaked ya, kid?"  
"Is your leg broken or just busted up?"  
"Did the same thug who slugged yah break your leg too?"  
"Were there a bunch of them?"  
"Was it epic?"  
"You from around here?"  
"Got any folks, or did they dump ya? Maybe dead? Divorced?"  
"Can you play stickball?"  
"How good's your aim, kid?"  
"Got a girlfriend, kid?"  
"Why does your face get all red?"  
"Are ya shy or just stupid like Bumlets?"  
"Is you a Newsie or a Scaber?"  
"You're too nice to be a Scaber, but you ain't ugly enough to be one of us."  
"How many papes can ya sell in a day?"  
"How come I ain't ever seen ya before?"  
"What's your real name?"  
"Why do they call ya Crutchie if you only just broke your leg?"  
"Is it cause you're a gimp even without a busted leg?"  
"Shut up, Ten-Pin!"  
"You shut up!"  
"ALL OF YOU SHUT UP!" Jack roared from the other room, silencing the myriad of questions, "I'M TRYING TO SLEEP HERE!" 

"Hey, Jack! We's going over to Jackobi's fer lunch. wanna come?"  
Jack sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, "How long have I been out?" he called back.  
"Not long," replied the voice, "A little past noon."  
"Who all is coming?"  
"Mush, Blink, Itey, Snitch, Skittery, Bumlets, Dutchy, Ten-Pin-"  
"Ok, ok!" Jack said, cutting off the current of names being fired off. "I'm coming. Who is it?"  
"Your sweetheart," Race replied sarcastically.  
"Sweetheart, my rear!" Jack retorted sardonically.  
"With pleasure." Race laughed, opening the door to reveal the crowd of boys waiting just outside.  
"Hey, who's watching the kid?" Jack wondered aloud, getting up.  
"That gimp?" said a little kid neer the back.  
"Shut up, Ten-Pin!" Albert shot at the seven-year-old, "He's coming with us."  
"What?" Jack said, making his way to the open door, "The kid just broke his leg! You cant drag him all the way to Jackobi's like that!"  
"Who says we can't? We ain't just gonna leave him behind!" interjected Buttons.  
"You don't even know if he wants to come!" Jack pointed out.  
"I'll come!" Crutchie called from next door.  
The boys cheered, but jack just shot back, "You're staying here, kid!"  
"Oh ok," came the timid reply, and Jack felt a twinge of guilt for dashing the kids hope so harshly.  
"Oh, just leave the crip here," kid blink drawled, "he's to darn slow anyway, an' I'm hungry."  
This did not have a good reaction. Albert got very upset and took a swing at Blink, slugging him right across his jaw. "Too darn slow, huh? Well, have fun stuffing your fat face with a broken jaw!"  
"Hey! HEY!" Jack shouted, restraining the upset boy, "That's enough, Albert!" Albert spat at Blink but stopped struggling.  
"Keep your spit in your mouth, you-"  
"BLEEP!" shouted a scuffed up boy of around seven.  
"Oh shut your pie whole you little-"  
"BLEEP!"  
Blink tried to grab the small boy, but the spritely kid turned and ran off only to slam into the wall and tumble halfway down the stairs.  
"Someone catch Tumble before he hits bottom," Jack said, straight-faced as though this happened all the time.  
"Got em!"  
"Nice catch, Pie-Eater," called Jack. "Now, I stay here with the kid, end of the discussion," he said finally.  
The boys grumbled, but they knew it was probably best, and they jostled away down the stairs and out the exit.  
"An' bring me a sandwich!" Jack called after them.  
He made his way into Crutchie's room, stretching, and found the boy sitting in bed picking at the sheets, splinted leg stretched out before him.  
"Is it awake?" Jack stage whispered.  
"Huh?" Crutchie said, not looking up.  
"Your leg, I ain't gonna wake it up, am I?" he teased.  
"Oh. No, it's awake." Crutchie said quietly. "You-you didn't have to stay, ya know."  
"What?"  
"You could've gone with them." Crutchie said, looking up, "I don't have to be babysat."  
"Oh, no. It's not that. I just didn't feel like going." Jack said shrugging.  
"What kinda boy doesn't 'feel' like going out for food?" Crutchie asked skeptically.  
"The tired kind that stayed up all night with a little kid who had a boo-boo." Jack pointed out. The kid bashfully looked down again and resumed fidgeting with the sheets.  
Jack frowned. He'd only been teasing, but the kid looked rather glum compared to when he'd seen him last. Jack had overheard some of the questions the boys had asked and knew a few had probably hit a little close to home, but he also knew Crutchie woold just have to get used to it. Still, he hated seeing the boy looking so down and decided the kid needed some cheering up. He dragged a chair over to stand opposite Crutchie then made a big show of sitting down as though he were a sore old man, ending with an "oof!"  
"Oof?" Crutchie said, his eyebrows raised. "You ain't that old, are you?"  
Jack laughed, glad to see a little of the fun kid from last night coming back and replied, "Eh, you'd be surprised."  
"How old are you?" Crutchie asked, his curiosity perked.  
"Geus." Jack challenged.  
"Oh, I don't know..." Crutchie said, smiling shyly.  
"Aw come on, give it a shot."  
Crutchie shited uncomfortably, "I- I don't wanna end up offending anyone." he admitted.  
"You ain't gonna offend no one," Jack said, punching Crutchie's shoulder playfully.  
"promise?"  
Jack nodded.  
"Oh, all right," Crutchie finally agreed, "uh, 17?"  
"Not quite..." Jack said, tilting his head to one side.  
"18?"  
"What? no!"  
"Sorry, sorry, I meant 20, I promise!"  
Jack laughed out loud, "Geez, kid, I ain't that tall!"  
"Down?"  
"Way down, like 5 years down," Jack said, giving it away.  
Crutchie did the math, absent-mindedly counting on his fingers, and his jaw dropped as he came to the answer.  
"15?" he whispered.  
"Yuh-huh," Jack said, nodding his head. "not too old, not too young, don't ya think."  
"You's only 15?" Crutchie repeated wide-eyed.  
"Almost 16, I guess," said Jack.  
Crutchie just shook his head, "But you're 15 right now?"  
Jack nodded, and Crutchie rubbed his eyes, "I was sure you was older."  
"Nope, just 15. Most of the boys are around here are about that age give or take." Jack explained, and if it were possible, Crutchie's jaw dropped even farther, and Jack was sure the kid's eyebrows would fly off his forehead. Jack laughed at the shocked expression on Crutchie's face, "something wrong with that?"  
Crutchie shook his head, "It's just, that means... I'm only about two years younger than you and about the same age as the others."  
"Wait, really?" Jack said, frowning, sure Crutchie was mistaken. "How old are ya, kid? You cant be more than ten."  
"I'm, I'm actually 14, believe me, or don't," Crutchie said, laughing nervously.  
"What! No, you're not! You gotta be pulling my leg."  
"I'm am, I swear! You can ask miss Meda, she'll tell you!" Crutchie said earnestly.  
"I ain't gonna go bothering the madam cuz some kids pulling my leg-"  
"Good thing you don't have to." said a voice behind him. Madam Meda strode into the room, carrying a basket filled with various bandages and supplies.  
"Good afternoon, miss Meda!" Crutchie called perking up, a big smile spreading across his face.  
"Afternoon, dear," she said, shooing Jack away from his seat and sitting down herself. "How ya feeling today?"  
"Just fine, and you?"  
"Couldn't be better," She placed her basket on the bed by Crutchie's splinted leg and gently laid a hand on the injured limb. Crutchie flinched badly, and Meda looked up in concern. "Hurt's?" she asked unnecessarily, but Crutchie just smiled brighter and shook his head.  
"Not really, no," he said brightly. Meda folded her arms and looked hard at the smiling boy, "Crutchie, how am I supposed to make it better if you won't tell me when it hurts?"  
"But it doesn't miss Meda! Whatever yous been doing is working!"  
"Yeah? Well, it'd work faster if you'd be honest with me." she pointed out.  
"All right, I'm sorry, miss Meda," Crutchie said, looking down.  
"It's alright," she said, "now, does it hurt."  
"Just a little," he reassured her. But as she placed her hand on the leg, he flinched severely again, and she raised an eyebrow "ok, maybe a lot." he admitted.  
Meda nodded and got to work cleaning bandages and reapplying ointment.  
"Jack, in the basket is some lunch, take it and find something useful to do, alright?"  
"Yes, ma'am," Jack went the basket and saw it was full of various supplies and a fair amount of goodies. He looked to Meda, not sure what was meant for him. "He ham and cheese one is yours." she said, not looking up from her work, "Now shoo! Go find something to do."  
He grabbed the sandwich and made his way down the stairs and out the loge, wondering what exactly to do next. Skittery, a thin fidgety boy, and Bumlets, a quiet, soft brown-haired boy, were playing stickball not too far off. Jack briefly thought about joining them, but he was still tired from the night before, and madam Meda had said to do something useful. What could he do that was useful...  
Jack spotted a pile of leftover wood lying by a newly completed construction site and wondered if he could do anything useful with that. He wasn't exactly an expert at woodworking, being more of a paper and pencil guy, but it was worth a shot. Besides, Crutchie would need a new crutch, and it was the least he could do after busting him up. Jack still couldn't believe Crutchie was 14, almost his age! The kid, well boy, was so... tiny. Likable, considerate, optimistic, forgiving-  
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?" Jack had picked up a long thin plank of wood and was examining it when he heard an angry voice from nearby.  
"Theif!"  
He tossed a few coins down on the pile of timber then took off with the plank of wood, but still exhausted, he tripped over the long plank. The man kicked at him, then yanked the wood out from his hands, and Jack's breath caught as he felt a searing pain as many slivers of the unsanded wood slid under his skin and nails. Clenching his teeth, he got up, holding his stinging hands to his chest, cursing. The man had the courtesy to throw the coins back at him, but jack rudely spat in his direction. There was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to find Bumlets standing there.  
"What do you want, Bumlets?" Jack asked irritably.  
"here," said Bumlets holding his stickball stick out to jack.  
"An' what am I supposed to do with your dumb stick?" said jack biting splinters out of his hand.  
"Dunno," Bumlets said, shrugging, "for whatever you was planning to do with that," he suggested, motioning over to the pile of wood jack had tried to borrow. "I'm guessing you was thinking about the kid, right?"  
"Yeah, I guess," Jack said, spitting wood.  
"You can use mine, ill find another," Bumlets said, passing the stick to Jack, who accepted it tenderly with his stinging hands.  
"You sure?" he checked, feeling bad for reacting so testily at first.  
"Yeah, the kid'l need it more."  
Jack tucked the sturdy stick under his arm and spat on his hand offering it to the other boy, "Thanks Bumlets,"  
"No problem."  
They shook, and Jack winced as his palm screamed at him, the splinters digging deeper.  
"Skittery can fix ya up," Bumlets said, noticing the wince of pain, "he's pretty good with those long fingers of his."  
"Yeah, but he'd just tell me I'm gonna die anyway, and there's no use going through the trouble." Jack huffed.  
"He ain't that bad, just anxious."  
"I know you're talking about me!" called a high pitched voice behind them.  
"And a little paranoid," Jack added.  
"Maybe, but he's good with his fingers, but I'm better with my fists," Bumlets said, grinning slightly.  
"Very true," Jack laughed, clapping the strong boy on the shoulder, "Ouch, bad idea," he said, gritting his teeth as his hands protested.  
"Oy, Skittery, mind taking a look at Jack's hands?" Bumlets called to his friend, "he busted them up pretty good."  
"Oh, what's the use?" the thin boy complained, "we're all gonna die soon enough."  
"Called it," Jack muttered out the corner of his mouth.  
"What was that? what'd you say?" Skittery asked, squinting his eyes suspiciously.  
"Only saying you should give your suspenders a break and quit fidgeting with em' before they shake right off your skinny behind," Jack called, laughing.  
"Oh, haha, very funny," skittery said dryly, shoving his hands in his pockets, "I ain't stupid. Maybe I should start charging ya for my time, huh?"  
"Maybe I should stop helping you pay for papes, huh?" Jack countered.  
Without further argument, Skittery made his way over, still muttering various pessimistic things and got to work picking splinters from the older boy's palms.  
"Are ya sure it ain't gonna be too short?" Boots was looking over Jack's shoulder at the stick Bumlets had donated for a new crutch for Crutchie.  
"ill bet ya it'll be too tall," Race said, over an unlit cigar wedged in between his molars.  
"Or the kid'll be too small," said Snipeshooter taking aim with his slingshot and shooting the cigar right out of races mouth.  
"It'll work." jack said confidently as Race tackled the strawberry blond boy to the ground. "what do you think, Elmer?" Elmer, a bushy-browed boy who looked around 14, got up and made his way overtaking the stick from jack and tucking it under his arm like you would a crutch.  
"Dunno," he said, walking around a bit, hunched over on the stick, "we'd have ta get his measurements. But even if it was just right, it wouldn't be too comfortable."  
Jack nodded, he hadn't quite thought about that till Elmer pointed it out.  
"You're right, what are we gonna do about that?" he sighed, leaning his head against the tree, "Any ideas?" Albert, who'd been messing with specs ears for no apparent reason, got and up abruptly took the stick right out from under Elmer. Who staggered a bit as he'd been leaning on the stick.  
"W-Woah!" Elmer said as he staggered a bit, as he'd been leaning on the stick.  
"Albert," Specs called when the redhead made no sign of noticing he hadn't been very polite. But Albert seemed deep in thought and didn't seem to hear him. Albert had two modes: Loud and obnoxious, or laser-focused and zoned out. The boys knew better than to disturb him, or he'd get unusually upset. They were quite as the boy examined the stick, occasionally making marks here and there. He walked over to jack and pointed to a circle hed drawn about one quarter down the rod.  
"Make a hole right there. It should go right through to be sturdiest, but a little more then halfway could work too if you were lazy. Stick a piece of wood in there. It'll work as a handle for him to grab onto instead of having to wrap it around." He demonstrated what he meant, and jack nodded. It made sense, and jack was rather impressed, but the boy wasn't done yet. "Ya gotta sand it a bit, so it won't blister his hand. Then we'll tie some leather right here," he flipped the stick around and rubbed his hand on the bottom. "That way, it won't slide on smoother ground."  
"Yeah, an' what 'smooth ground' are we gonna be walking on?" Race scoffed, "the Delancey's faces?" the boys laughed, but Albert didn't seem to hear. "Then a solid block should be attached to the top, right here, so his shoulder can rest comfortably on it. We could tie a shirt or something to make it not so hard."  
Jack blinked. He didn't think he'd ever seen the easily upset, clingy, and somewhat obnoxious boy take anything so seriously. He couldn't help feel a little proud of the way Albert had so easily come up with a solution.  
"I never knew you did woodwork, Al," Jack said, impressed.  
"I don't," the boy replied, frowning at Jack, "do you?"  
"I'm serious," Jack pushed, "you've really got a talent for this sort of thing."  
Albert shrugged and tossed the stick to Elmer, who caught it, confused. "Let's go play ball," Albert said suddenly and began jogging off, pulling a confused Splasher behind him.  
"What do ya want me to do with this?" Elmer wondered aloud.  
"Get his measurements!" Albert called back like it was obvious.  
"Ok, but why me?"  
"You're smart with numbers, and I don't like touching people!" said Albert, throwing up his hands and running the rest of the way to the ball spot.  
"Um, ok," Elmer said softly. "I'm not the only one who saw him playing with Specs ears just a moment ago, right?"  
"Yeah, weird, huh." Specs grind, stretching out on the grass.  
Jack stood up and brushed himself off, "Well, you heard him, boys'! Elmer go an' get Crutchie's measurements. Boots, see if you can't relive your old shoe shop of some leather, will ya? Tumble, you're always tripping over magical piles of wood, go find a stick about this big. Itey, you had better go with him and make sure he doesn't break his neck. Race you're handy with a knife, cut around those edges Albert drew. And ill see what I can do about that block of wood, huh?" The boys all got up and made for the stick, each one needing it for his own assignment. "An' take turns!" Jack shouted over the bustle of boy squabbling over the soon-to-be crutch.  
Jack didn't want to go back to the ally, but he knew with any luck that block of wood might still be there if the Scabers hadn't gotten to it first. As he came upon the road, he crossed the street just before he reached the alleyway, not wanting to get jumped if there was actually a thug there this time. He casually made his way along the other side and gave what he hoped looked like a nonchalant glace down the ally. As he'd dreaded, a few boys were fighting quietly over the papes Crutchie had left the day before. This was a good sign, Jack supposed. If the Scabers had only just now gotten to the papes, there was a good chance the leftover wood would be untouched. Jack looked around for something to use as a distraction but found nothing. He knew he shouldn't, but Jack was exhausted and didn't think it'd go well if he tried fighting off the dirty vagabonds. So, he went for the more straightforward, slightly crueler way.  
"Its Snyder! Quick, let's get out of here!"  
The boys froze, then shot off like spooked cats down the road; the newspapers were forgotten. Jack felt a little guilty for pulling such a mean string, but they were only Scabers, and those papes weren't theirs to take anyway, he reasoned. Still, it was not a nice thing to do, to put it lightly. Jack had personally faced Snyder's wrath, and if someone pulled such a card on him, he didn't think he'd ever be able to forgive them. Guiltily he crossed the street again and made his way into the ally. Yes! The bloke was still there, along with some cloth scraps scattered around. Jack knelt to gather them up. "Huh, what's this?" He picked up a small chain that looked to be made of gold, or at least plated with the precious metal, and saw that it had been snaped at one end. Possibly a pocket watch chain. He doubted Crutchie had been carrying it when he'd been soaked and briefly wondered if it belonged to the thugs who'd beet up Crutchie. But Jack knew for a fact that no street thug would be walking around with such a valuable or they wouldn't have a reason to beat up little kids. Or 14-year-old boys, Jack corrected himself. Tucking the chain into his vest pocket Jack decided to think on it later. He would just ask Crutchie who slugged him. Then Jack found something even more unusual. A polished black cane with a metal top shone at him from a little farther away, and he picked it up, twirling it curiously. It was expensive he could tell, with its extreme polish, and engraved silver head. It was dented and scraped, the metal on the bottom badly dented as though someone had hit it repeatedly against the ground. The cane was about the perfect hight for Jack, so ether its owner had been unusually short or around Jack's own age. But no newsie or Scaber jack had ever seen had so much as dreamed of owning a stick like this, and he couldn't see any rich spoiled brat waltzing around manhattans dark allies. And why would they just leave it here? There must have been quite a fight, and it must've been stopped suddenly, or the winner would've taken the spoils. Jack stifled a yawn, he'd think about it later, right now he was too tired to think clearly. Jack gathered up his findings and promised to work on the mystery later. Then he heard something that stopped his heart. The very thing that he thought he'd escaped all those years ago, the thing that haunted him even in broad daylight. The voice of Snyder.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I admit, I technically haven't even seen the show yet, but I've done my research and practically have the songs memorized, so that's got to count for something, right? My sincerest apologies if my take on the characters is about as accurate as Crutchies weather predictions (and who knows how accurate those are) cuz if there's one thing that annoys me more then the Delancey brothers, its someone messing up my favorite characters. So please, feel free to let me know what I can improve upon or adjust, cuz believe me, I need all the help I can get!  
> Wow, did you actually read to the endnotes? You're the best! But, of course, that ain't news to you ;).


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